


it’s new (the shape of your body)

by newseptembers



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Clothed Sex, Co-workers, Crack Treated Seriously, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fic within a Fic, Kylo/Kira, Oral Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, he's a talker, non-spoiler reference to episode ix leaks, this is a thinly veiled excuse to make ben solo suffer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 07:56:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newseptembers/pseuds/newseptembers
Summary: “You’re the weak one here, aren’t you?” Kylo continues, the way Kira’s chest contracts rapidly under his hand sending a heady rush of power straight to his cock. “Weak for me, for what we’re doing. I see your mind.”Ben tears his eyes away from the screen. He's going to die.— Working in the social media department of BespinFilms means that keeping on top of leaks is part of Ben and Rey's job. Some are more detailed than others.





	it’s new (the shape of your body)

**Author's Note:**

> this was initially an experiment to see if i can write smut for longer than a couple of paragraphs, and judging by the word count i'd say i've succeeded? it's technically based off the fact that major companies do have dedicated members of staff that deal with leaks that are posted online, but it will become very clear at roughly 200 words in that i have no actual idea how any of this works and it's just a plot device for porn.
> 
> as far as i'm aware there are no applicable content warnings, but tags for the fic within the fic include angsty hate sex and dirty talk, just in case neither of those are your jam!
> 
> title is from _cruel summer_ by taylor swift

“Ben? Come here. You have to see this one.”

Ben Solo looks up from his computer screen, closes the program he’s working on, and pushes away from his desk, dragging his rolling chair across the island of carpet that separates his work station from Rey’s. 

She has Reddit up full screen on the dual monitor nearest to him, proudly displaying the Galaxy Clash leaks subreddit, and Ben squints to read the title of the newest post. He’s already rolling his eyes.

** _!! NEW LEAK !! VERIFIED SOURCE_ ** screams the headline, and he pulls himself closer, his shirtsleeve brushing against the exposed skin of Rey’s arm. 

When he got his degree, Ben hadn’t expected to spend his working hours cloistered in the BespinFilms basement offices ,  trawling the internet for fans who all seemed to think of themselves as film industry Robin Hoods in their quest to redistribute confidential information, but it’s nevertheless where he’s ended up. The company’s figurehead franchise drawing to a close at the end of the year means that the internet is a breeding ground for people’s half baked theories about the future of the Galaxy Clash universe, and the culmination of a nine film series has turned the prospect of leaks into a primed grenade thrown straight into a waiting crowd. 

He and Rey spend their days searching online, Google alerts set up for key phrases, incognito twitter accounts following likely posters. It’s their job to stay aware of what’s been let slip and when, and if any of it has any credence at all. They’re the people responsible for choice tidbits vanishing before the retweets go wild, and occasionally, if needed, they even steer fans in the wrong direction. Sometimes it’s necessary to throw them off the scent. 

Rey’s far better than him at social media, and so she spends most of her time knee-deep in Twitter and Reddit, dealing directly with the storm of content that comes in the wake of new posts. Ben doesn’t have the patience for it. Blocking people on their verified account is frowned upon, unfortunately, and the one week he spent filling both department positions because Rey was off sick with the flu did a number on his dental work. 

When Rey calls him over, he expects the post to be building on the round of leaks that have been gaining steam in certain fan circles. They’re complete nonsense, of course — Ben doesn’t even know half the plot of the final Galaxy Clash movie, the security is so tight, but even he knows that half of the theorised storylines are downright impossible — but the fans have latched onto them, hard. 

The most recent theory posits that the heroine, Kira, is somehow both a clone of herself and her own grandmother. It’s both wholly implausible and entirely ridiculous, but it hasn’t stopped sections of the fanbase from making hundreds of edits of the lead actress photoshopped into various scenes in the prequel movies. 

Ben figures that today’s post is probably much of the same. However unethical it may be, Rey uses an anonymous account and is one of the head moderators of the leak subreddit, and so she sees hundreds of posts daily, most sincere but others blatant attempts at fishing for a reaction. 

“What is it this time?” he asks, already preparing to read some forty year old’s rambled imaginings of his childhood hero. A depressing number of so-called Galaxy Clash fans seem to take great pleasure in complaining about how much better the franchise was three films ago, and their posts always reflect their rose-tinted nostalgia. 

His chair catches on the carpet and he feels it tip forward, catching himself just in time. Rey snorts out a laugh, her hand covering her mouth, and he shoots her a glare that’s more out of obligation than anything else. She laughs at him a lot, but it never feels mean or vindictive, and in fairness, he does act like a colossal idiot around her the majority of the time. 

It’s no wonder he does — she’s unnervingly pretty and whip-smart sarcastic, and he’s seen her eviscerate entitled fans and make a kid’s day with a well-timed reply from their verified account with equal ease. She’s wasted down here in the basement with him. Someone like her should be  _ in  _ the movies, not sat at a desk for eight hours a day scrolling through online vitriol. 

“You have to read it for yourself,” Rey says, and hops out of her chair. “Here, it’s so long. Sit down and enjoy.”

Ben raises an eyebrow but does as he’s bid, filling her seat and drawing himself closer to the monitor. Rey’s a tall woman, but he scrapes six-foot-three on a good day and immediately has to readjust her chair, sinking down to a height that’s a little more comfortable for him. 

She hovers behind him, drumming her fingers on the headrest, so near that the delicate hair at the back of his neck prickles in awareness. They work in close quarters, but nothing like  _ this, _ when the back of the chair is the only thing separating them from being plastered together, her chest pressed against him. 

He breathes deeply and the scent of her fills his nose, the vanilla of her shampoo and the floral of her perfume, and underneath it all something that’s uniquely  _ Rey _ . The breath that was meant to calm him has done the exact opposite and he hisses an exhale through clenched teeth, thanking everyone he can think of — God, BespinFilms’ CEO, his dead grandfather — that his lower half is tucked neatly under the desk, out of sight and hopefully out of mind. 

Turning his attention to the screen and determinedly breathing through his mouth, Ben focuses on the essay of text and groans aloud.

“Rey, I swear if this is another five thousand word essay on why all the sequels are bad and how Lando plans to personally retcon them all, I’ll…” he trails off, trying to think of something that toes the line between threatening and clearly lighthearted. He’s been told in the past that he can come off as a little… intense. 

“I would never,” Rey replies solemnly, and he might not be able to see her face but he can hear the smile in her voice. “Now shut up and read it.”

They do this, sometimes, break up the monotony by making a game of sharing their favourite bad posts. It livens up the days, and God knows that he’s seen enough horrific opinions to have long ago lost any remaining faith in humanity.

If Rey’s picked this post out of the myriad outlandish submissions, it must really be something special. They’re approaching the final weeks before the trailer release, and fans are throwing every mindless speculation at the wall to see what sticks. Some people have made worryingly close guesses, but the vast majority of theories make him wonder if the posters have ever paid attention to story structure in their lives. 

Rey nudges his shoulder and his skin prickles where she touched him, a warm glow emanating from where their skin met and spreading outwards until he’s surely blushing bright red. The tips of his ears are burning, and he prays that the mess of his hair is doing the one job he asks of it and keeps them hidden at least until his overactive heart calms down. 

He coughs once, guiltily, and stares until the screen comes into focus, the letters swimming until he blinks them into place.

The post is… really long. Most are, but this is approaching dissertation status, and far as he can tell there are no sections and very few paragraph breaks. He sighs heavily and leans forward, ready to scroll until his finger cramps, but Rey surprises him by leaning over his shoulder and resting her hand over his on the cursor.

Like this, her loose hair brushes his shoulder and tickles the bare skin of his neck, just above his collar. The sweet smell of it is inescapable, and when she shifts forward to get a better grip on the mouse she presses fully against him, the soft swell of her breast unmistakable against his arm. 

His grip on the plastic armrests could crack iron. 

So far, Ben has dealt with his desperate attraction to Rey in the same way as he deals with everything that’s even vaguely uncomfortable: bottled it up and shoved it down until it becomes unavoidable, all his feelings spilling out all over the place. Apparently, that boiling point is now, because he's not sure just how much more of this he can take, her presence enveloping him and his entire existence narrowed to the point of contact that’s her hand on top of his.

“You can skip this,” she murmurs low beside him. It must be so obvious how he shivers in the wake of her words, her breath blowing over the shell of his ear. She scrolls slowly, moving his finger as if it were her own, and the innocent crooking motion feels obscene. 

She has to see how she’s affecting him. He’s breathing like he’s ran a marathon, spine rigid under the thin cotton of his dress shirt, and he can feel the sweat that’s prickled on his upper lip. Rey rests the hand that’s not scrolling on his shoulder, and her touch goes through him like electricity.

“Here,” she hums, lifting her hand off his and pointing to a gap in the text. “This is where it gets interesting.”   


Ben nods, a soft noise of agreement in the back of his throat, and turns his attention to the screen. Some Reddit poster’s bad opinions are just what he needs to calm himself down. He can laugh with her about how far off base they are, and then he can retreat back to the safety of his desk and stew in a haze of lust until it hits an acceptable hour to leave. He’s never jerked off in the bathroom at work before and he doesn’t intend on starting now, regardless of how his body seems to think it would be an excellent idea. 

The post has been caught in their automoderation filter, so aside from Rey, no one else has read it. Ben’s made it three sentences in before he realises just how fortunate that is.

***

_ ...Cut to BRSANKA. KIRA and KYLO are alone, fighting in the desert — or are they? You could cut the tension with a knife. My source tells me that the duel gets hotter and heavier, weapons cast aside and clothing ripped as our protagonist and antagonist get closer. Attached is a rough idea of the encounter.  _

***

Ben blinks. This does not sound like the usual posts people come up with, tiny sparks of information blown up and glued together with wishful thinking. This is much more in depth.

He darts a glance at Rey out of the corner of his eye, watches as her eyes track back and forth across the words onscreen. She’s read them before, but she seems just as engrossed the second time around, her hand still gripping his upper arm. 

He refocuses, eyes glancing over the text and skim-reading to get the bare bones of it all, and he realises that all pretense of insider knowledge is quickly abandoned in favour of the poster’s — admittedly enthralling — fanfiction. He knows he should stop reading, peel his attention away from the screen and crack a joke about the absurdity of it all, but some dementedly curious part of him keeps his eyes stuck like glue on the monitor. 

***

_ Kylo spits into the dirt, the wound Kira carved into his face seeping ruby red blood on the desert floor. Lying worn in the sand, he watches with barely concealed fervour in his eyes as the scavenger circles around him, a lioness triumphant after conquering her prey.  _

_ Kira pants, her top torn away to expose the smooth skin of her stomach, and draws a length of rope from her belt, approaching Kylo’s prone form. She kneels to bind his hands when he strikes, quick as a snake, and flips her underneath him, enveloping her in a flurry of black cloth. The cut on his face drips blood on her cheek like rain and she writhes, catching a drop of it on her tongue and baring her teeth.  _

***

Ben’s knuckles crack and he releases his grip before he splits the plastic arms of Rey’s chair. Hands clenched into fists at his sides, he determinedly ignores the abrupt swelling of his cock in his trousers and breathes once, deep in through his nose, thanking God that he’s not standing up. 

Rey’s hand burns a brand on his shoulder, hot skin bleeding through his shirt. Lust pulsing through him, he shifts microscopically in her chair and tries to stop imagining the scene laid out before him in lurid detail, but he’s fighting a losing battle.

He looks like Kylo Ren. He knows this, has been told by every person he meets as soon as he mentions his place of employment. They all think they're the first person to have brought it up. He can see it, if he squints; dark hair, tall, strong nose — except features that can best be described as Byronic when on the face of a fictional antihero look decidedly more awkward when their owner sits in a basement scrolling through the internet for a living. Still, it’s not a stretch to twist his imagination until he  _ is _ Kylo, breath heaving and face torn open as the enemy he’s stalked across space lies prone beneath him. 

***

_ “Well?” Kira taunts, Kylo’s blood bright on her tanned skin. “Finish the job. Or are you too weak?” _

_ She’s infuriating, acting as though she’s the one in control when he’s the rightful victor, weeks of tracking her and listening to her goad him across planets finally paying off as they lay here in the sand, his body pressing into the cradle of her hips.  _

_ He growls in response and reaches out, eyes boring into hers until their bond kicks in. Images flash through his mind, traitorous thoughts and desires pouring like fire into the space where their thoughts connect: Kira above him, below him, whining around the stretch of his cock as he pushes into her so deeply that he can no longer tell where he ends and she begins.  _

_ Her pupils blow wide and he snarls, closing the space between them and capturing her mouth with his own. The kiss is electric, the culmination of a year’s worth of tension, of fighting and confidence and forbidden attraction all exploding out of him in a desperate rush of feeling. _

_ She breaks away from him and he can’t help the keen that slips out of his open mouth, his lips bruised from the force of their kiss. Kira bucks up underneath him, trying to regain the upper hand, and his eyes roll back in his head as he grinds down helplessly, bearing her down into the sand. _

_ Tugging the hair at the back of his neck, she forces his gaze down to meet hers and smirks victoriously. He can sense her smugness in his mind, her self-congratulation at causing him to lose his composure in this way, even as some wild part of her vibrates with unreleased tension. _

_ “No,” he breathes into the gap between them, feeling the way her emotions shift from assurance to excitement as his hand moves from the back of her head to ghost down her neck, pulling aside the torn edges of her robe to allow his gloved palm to envelop her breast, the black leather hot against her exposed skin.  _

_ “You’re the weak one here, aren’t you?” he continues, the way her chest contracts rapidly under his hand sending a heady rush of power straight to his cock. “Weak for me, for what we’re doing. I see your mind.” _

***

Ben’s going to die. 

He can’t tear his eyes away, can’t focus on anything except the words on the screen and Rey, so close to him that her breathing stirs his hair. He’s hard enough to tear through his trousers and he pulls himself closer to the desk, cursing his lack of self-control. 

If she sees him like this, he’ll never live it down. He should stop right now, before it goes any further, shake Rey’s hand off the mouse and close the tab and never mention anything related to this ever again. He already knows that he won’t be able to watch the film without remembering this, the way he’s suffering while the object of his fantasies hovers unwittingly inches behind him.

He leans forward, trying futilely to wrestle control of the cursor, but Rey vastly misinterprets his intentions. 

“Isn’t it crazy?” she says. “I’ve read the whole thing twice.”

Ben’s eyes dart unbidden to the wall of text, zeroing in on the closest paragraph. When he reads what it says, he can’t help the noise that escapes like it’s been punched out of him.

***

_ … her moan is filthy, glorious, debauched, and Kylo lifts his head from the crook of her neck, tongue laving at the mark he left with his teeth. Kira writhes underneath him, skin gleaming with sweat in the heat of the desert, and he ruts his hips into the crook of her thighs, one hand fumbling at his belt.  _

_ She hisses when his touch leaves her body and flips them with strength he didn’t know she possessed, grunting when she lands on top of him, legs spread over his thighs. Her hands fumble at the catch of his trousers and she glares down at him, deliberately grinding her core into the hard line of his cock and tossing her hair back as he groans helplessly. _

_ “Tell me you hate me,” she gasps out, rocking her hips in circles that have all the blood in Kylo’s body abruptly rushing to one place. “Tell me you love this.” _

***

Rey has read this. She’s read it twice. She sat in the chair opposite him, serene as a swan, and read what is undoubtedly the filthiest thing he’s ever seen in his entire life without batting an eyelid. Did she picture the actors? Or, he wonders, and the thrill of it goes through him like lightning, is she like him?

The thought of it, Rey reading those words and imagining herself in Kira’s place, hits him like a freight train. He can’t stop _ thinking _ about it: Rey, sprawled beneath him in the desert as he looms over her; Rey, moaning as he kisses down the curve of her neck; Rey,  _ wanting _ him.

Did she imagine Kylo Ren? 

Or was it someone else who filled her thoughts? Traitorous hope leaps in the pit of his stomach at the thought of her fantasising about him, about them, wrapped around one another in the sand. 

Rey moves her palm from his shoulder and he nearly groans at the release of her touch, the press of her hand the only thing that’s been keeping him grounded, but his heart skyrockets to his throat when her fingers twine through the hair at the base of his neck.

“Rey…” he grits out, voice hoarse. He can’t survive this, the dull press of her nails tracing down his sensitive skin, goosebumps erupting in their wake. If he dared, if he could, he’d push against the desk, palm his cock with the heel of his hand, anything to satiate the ache that’s taken over his entire body.

“Your hair is so soft,” she muses idly, combing it through. 

He’s trapped, caught between the torture of her touch and the words on screen, and he doesn’t know where to look or what do with his hands or how to avoid crumbling into a mess of pent-up sexual frustration when she inevitably draws away. 

“Rey,” he says again, more of a whisper than anything else, and she hums in response. His ears are buzzing, no blood left in his brain.

“Seriously,” she continues, finger twisting in a dark lock and pulling gently. His eyes roll back in his head and he has to fight the full body shiver that threatens to overwhelm him entirely and give him away. “Do you use salon products or something? This is not natural.”

This is the most surreal experience of Ben’s life, discussing his hair care routine with the co-worker he’s halfway in love with while sporting a raging erection. He’s going to have a supremely fucked up Pavlovian response to the Galaxy Clash leaks sub after this, he just knows it. 

“I don’t really use anything special,” he lies. Rey doesn’t need to know about the thirty dollar bottle of conditioner he keeps in his shower, especially not when he’s two seconds away from going off at the touch of her hand. Rey and showering are not things he can think about in conjunction with one another, not now. 

When the heat of her touch curves past the sensitive skin of his earlobe and ghosts along the line of jaw, his breath hitches and his eyes fly open, searching desperately for somewhere to land, anything he can focus on to stop embarrassing himself in front of her.

His gaze lands on the screen in front of him and he knows it’s a bad idea but he can’t stop, consumed with the urge to keep reading. Rey’s hands are hot on his skin and he’s in urgent need of distraction, and the post is right  _ there _ . The urge to find out what happens needles at him like a physical itch and he’s unable to resist the temptation.

He catches sight of a passage and just like that he’s sucked in, unable to think of anything except the sun in the desert and the spark of skin on skin. His treasonous brain won’t stop imagining Rey in Kira’s place, and with her hands in his hair he’s driven mad by the thought of their bodies locked together. 

It’s easy, too easy, to fall into the words and forget everything except her hands on his body and the insistent pulse of desire that runs hot through his veins. 

***

_ Kira stops breathing when he pushes into her. Kylo feels her mind go blank with pleasure and he forces himself to stop, to draw out halfway before driving home once more, watching as her eyes flutter closed and colour blooms high on her cheekbones. She’s soaked, the sweetsharp scent of her cunt filling his nose, driving him out of his mind. He can’t think, can’t speak, can’t do anything except thrust into the slick wet heat of her, rutting like an animal in the scorching hot sand.  _

_ He can’t decide where to touch first. He wants to be everywhere, wants to kiss everywhere; the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw, the hollow where her neck meets her shoulder. He wants to palm her tits in his gloved hands, play with her nipples until she’s mindless and sobbing before he lowers his mouth to her breast and tortures her more. He wants to leave marks.  _

_ Kira moans helplessly as he twists his hips in a vicious circle, and her hand drags down his back, nails scoring lines like fire down his flesh. She’s panting into him, cut-off hiccups of air as he punches the breath out her lungs with the force of his thrusts, and he watches hypnotised as her blush spreads from her cheeks down her neck, her skin flushing pink right down to her nipples. Her thoughts are a wild rush of ecstasy and he feels her pleasure like it’s his own, and when he reaches down between their bodies to thumb at her clit he feels the shock that jolts through her.  _

_ “Come,” he urges, sweat pouring off him. “You want it. I can feel it.” _

_ They’re not even fully undressed, but she’s balancing on a knife-edge, so close to shattering, and he’s filled with the single-minded need to make her lose herself in him. He needs her to feel what he feels.  _

_ “Fuck you,” she grits out through clenched teeth, more weak threat than anything else, weight lost by the way she clings to him as her body draws tight. He doesn’t dignify her with a response, but his smirk says it all, and as his thumb rolls circles at the apex of her thighs he senses the tension in her climb higher and higher.  _

_ Kylo is intensely aware of the climb of her orgasm. It builds in her like a wave and desperation takes over him at the need to make her  _ come, _ make her weak, make her know who’s doing this to her; that it’s him who has her entire existence narrowed to the drag of his cock inside her and the pressure of his touch where she’s soaking.  _

_ “Fuck you,” Kira continues, sobbing it, chanting it like a prayer. “Fuck you, Kylo, I hate you, please--” _

_ He feels the tension break before she does and the glow of victory fills his veins even as he’s dizzyingly light-headed, and he has to bite hard on his lip to stop himself following as Kira cries out, sharp, and sinks her teeth into the meat of his shoulder, shaking like he’s the only thing holding her together.  _

_ Her pleasure overwhelms him, ricocheting down the bond and enveloping his senses, and his cock pulses as she clenches around him. It’s intoxicating, the crash of her orgasm and the way she’s moaning into his skin and he can’t breathe it’s too much and he groans as the wave of it crests and he can’t stop, he’s coming, and it hits him and it’s like he’s drowning and he reaches out helplessly and bridges their minds and Kira opens herself to him and he’s lost to it, lost to her, and it can’t end he can’t lose her he-- _

***

Ben pushes the chair back and stands like he’s been electrocuted. This was a bad idea. He doesn’t know what kind of demon possessed him when he decided it was a good plan to read the most obscene thing he’s ever come across in front of the co-worker who’s been the sole object of his fantasies for months and who had, until seconds ago, been combing her fingers through the curls of his hair. 

The chair shoots back like a rocket and Rey shrieks a little in surprise, and he can hear her stumble back behind him but he can’t turn around, because if she sees the way that he’s been affected by her — by those words — then she’ll immediately request a transfer and he can’t work without her. He tried it once, and it was an unmitigated disaster. 

“Ben?” she says, soft. He can sense her move closer but he still jolts when her hand rests featherlight on his back, the warmth of her touch seeping straight through his shirt. 

“Rey, please,” he murmurs, breathing hard, not even sure what he’s asking for. His fists are clenched by his sides and the press of his cock against the hard line of his zipper is driving him crazy and he  _ wants _ like he’s never wanted anything before, but at the same time he can’t make himself move. 

Like she’s done so many times, Rey takes matters into her own hands and solves the problem herself. She wraps her hands around his upper arms and pulls him around and he’s helpless to resist her. She’s so close to him, barely inches away; the red curve of her mouth is right there, the sweep of her lashes, the fine line of the scar on her cheek. 

Her eyes are huge in her face, pupils wide. It’s so easy to imagine closing the gap between them and pressing his lips to hers, pulling her into him, his hands spanning her waist or sketching the line of her hip or cupping the swell of her ass. 

“I have to go, I’m sorry, I can’t—” he stutters, leaning back even as she moves forward. She can’t touch him, not when he’s like this. His excuses don’t seem to deter her and she draws closer anyway, her chest nearly brushing his front, and Ben freezes. 

He can pinpoint the exact moment that she realises the state he’s in. It must be glaringly obvious, colour high in his cheeks, chest heaving like some ridiculous gothic novel heroine, the line of his erection at the front of his slacks. 

Rey blinks.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologises, stumbling backwards as far as he can into the hard wood of her desk, and he knows he’s rambling but he can’t stop himself. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave and I’ll ask for a transfer and you’ll never have to see me again and—”

He’s shocked into silence by Rey’s hand, grip loosening on the muscle of his bicep and skimming down the plane of his stomach to rest on his belt. 

“You are an idiot, Ben Solo,” she says, and he starts nodding before she even finishes her sentence. “The biggest idiot alive.”

“That’s becoming clear,” he says. His voice is hoarse and every molecule of his body is drawn tight as he tries to restrain himself, desperate to reach out and touch her like she’s touching him. 

“Did you really think,” she begins, cocking one eyebrow as her hand skirts the leather of his belt, inches away from where he’s burning for her, “that I told you to read several thousand words of thinly-veiled erotica because I thought you’d appreciate the literary merit?”

There’s no way for Ben to say that  _ yes _ , that’s exactly what he thought, without sounding like someone who very much does not want Rey’s hand to be exactly where it is right now. 

She must be able to tell by his face, because she smiles slowly, her mouth — her  _ mouth _ , painted red and bitten plump — turning up at the corners as her fingers  _ tap-tap-tap _ against his buckle. 

He rolls his lips together, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“There are things I want to say to you right now that are distinctly inappropriate for the workplace,” he says, reaching out to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear and unable to resist the urge to curl it around his finger, marvelling at the feel of it. 

Her eyes flutter shut as he brushes her skin, eyelashes batting against the bloom of her cheek. When she opens them her pupils are massive, the green-brown of her irises nearly swallowed whole.

“I think you should say them anyway.”

He moves slowly, closing the gap between them until his chest brushes her front, the buttons of his dress shirt pressing into her stomach, and Rey drops her hand from between their bodies and splays it flat over his back, fingers spanning as wide as she can reach. 

“I think you’re amazing,” he says, voice low. “And talented — too talented for this job. And I still think about the banana loaf you brought in after—”

She wants this. Wants him, if her breathing is any indication, the way it hitches when he tugs lightly on the coil of her hair. Even still, voicing his most illicit fantasies in the middle of the afternoon seems too much, too fast.

Thankfully, Rey doesn’t seem to share his concerns.

“This all seems very safe for work, Ben. I was promised scandal.”

He smiles at that, slow. When he speaks again his voice is a rumble, and he watches as colour rises high in Rey’s cheeks as he leans into the curve of her body. Moving his hand to the base of her neck, he twines through the curl of her hair, and she leans into his touch like a cat, eyes heavy-lidded. The stretch of his hand encompasses nearly the whole column of her throat, the base of his thumb resting over her pulse, the soft skin exposed by the open collar of her blouse. He has to fight the urge to lean down and  _ taste _ . 

“Those skirts you wear drive me crazy. The first time you showed up in one, that day I left early? I went home and jerked off, and I got no work done the rest of the day. I was too busy thinking about you. About what you were wearing underneath.”

The thrill of it shoots down his spine, watching as his words play across her face, colour spreading from her cheeks down to where the fabric of her shirt gapes open. It would be so easy to peel it off her; pull the buttons apart, rip the material in two, press his mouth to the hollow of her throat and breathe in the vanilla scent of her perfume.

Rey inhales, and her pupils were blown before but now her eyes are black holes in her face, no iris visible. She sways into him, and he wraps his free hand around the curve of her hip, pulling her close. 

“When I read that post,” she whispers, mouth inches away from his own, “I imagined it was you, doing those things to me, and I sat three feet away from you and got wet and you had no idea; and then I stood behind you while you read it and had to pretend I had no idea what was coming, and it killed me.”

He can’t stop the breath that escapes him in response.

“It’s not only you that it killed,” he says. Rey smirks. She can’t hide the triumphant gleam in her eyes as her touch drifts featherlight around his stomach, and this time she’s more daring.

Her fingers work at his belt buckle, and Ben can’t tear his eyes away. Her nails are painted, darker red than her lips, and the polish is chipped at the tips where typing has worn them down to stubs. It shouldn't be endearing, but of course it is. So many things about her are. 

The noise of the leather sliding through the belt loops on his slacks whistles through the air like a whip crack, reverberating in the quiet of the room. The catch of his breath rings in the silence, and it’s like he’s outside his body as he watches Rey tug his dress shirt free, immediately rucking up the fabric and pressing her palm flat against the plane of his abs. 

“You don’t want to know how much I’ve thought about this,” she says, eyes hungry. “About us.”

She’s bitten into her bottom lip so hard that it’s bruised, swollen red. He wants to soothe her mouth with his own, trace the tender flesh with his tongue until the sting of it abates.

“Jesus Christ, Rey. I promise I do.”

She has to be trying to kill him. 

Her hands on his skin are burning, short nails tracing aimless lines into his stomach and keeping him on edge, constantly tense, and one arm stretches round to his back and presses in deep at the base of his spine, pushing him into her. 

“I have,” she continues, her relentless assault never stopping. “For weeks, Ben —  _ months _ . When you roll your sleeves up; when you hold the door open; when you lean over me to check my computer and I have to act like you behind me isn’t everything I want. I can’t stop.”

He presses his lips together hard enough to stop the remaining blood flow, and the hand cradling her hip clenches unconsciously, clutching at the soft curve of her body underneath the starched fabric of her skirt. 

“I imagined that post was us, alone in the desert. What it would feel like with you on top of me. You inside me. If you’d say those things.”

The confirmation that Rey has imagined the same scenarios as him, the same fantasies; him bearing her down on the sand and urging her to come apart around him, his teeth sinking into the meat of her shoulder, his voice urging her over the precipice, sends a fresh wave of arousal crashing over him and he can’t wait any more, can’t hold back.

She bites into her lower lip, hard, white teeth on red flesh, and he groans like he’s dying, pulling her into him and lowering his mouth to hers. He has to taste her, has to know what her lips feel like against his own; the way she whimpers, once, before returning the kiss and sinking into him.

He fists the hand at the base of her neck deep into her hair and  _ tugs _ . Rey tips her head back, exposing the pale skin of her throat, and he breaks away from her mouth to trace sloppily down the line of her pulse. Her heartbeat thrums rabbitquick under his touch as he sucks bruises into the curve where her neck meets her shoulder and she moans, loud in the quiet of the office.

“You’re ruining my life,” Ben gasps into the collar of her blouse, and maybe it’s melodramatic but that’s what it feels like, the taste of her skin clouding his senses, sweat-slick and intoxicating. 

Her hands scrabble helplessly at the buttons of his shirt and she snarls in frustration, tearing at the fabric futilely. He takes mercy on her and pulls at the fastenings, ripping it over his head and throwing it across the room. It doesn’t matter where it lands. 

“You’re one to talk,” Rey pants breathlessly, hands all over the bare skin of his chest like she can’t decide where to put them first “Walking around looking like this. Every time you stretch I have a fucking aneurysm.”

He’s abruptly much more undressed than she is, half-naked while she stands in front of him fully dressed except for the shoes that she always kicks off before starting work, but he doesn’t have time to be conscious of it before Rey’s on him, twining her arms around his neck and tugging him down to recapture his mouth. She rubs herself against him and his cock is like iron, pressing into the soft give of her stomach and giving him friction that’s almost enough. 

He needs… he needs more. He needs Rey, up on this desk, her legs around his shoulders, his mouth on her cunt. He needs the drag of his cock inside her, her hands in his hair as she shatters around him, ruins his workplace productivity forever. He needs it all.

“Door,” he mutters, frantic, disentangling himself from her and treasuring the cut-off whine that escapes her swollen mouth when cool air meets the skin he worried with his teeth, bruises already forming. “We need to lock the door.”

Their department being relegated to the basement has never been so much of a blessing. The doors are thick, solid, no glass panels for prying eyes. They have working locks, too, and it takes seconds for him to slam the deadbolt home and turn, panting, to look at Rey. 

Her hair is a mess. It’s the first thing he registers, smooth waves worked into a tangle by his hands. The hem of her blouse has come untucked from her shirt and the paler skin of her stomach is visible, the jut of her hip bone exposed. The fabric gapes at the collar, where he’s mouthed at the line of her throat, white polka dots on black fabric and the red of her lipstick making her look like some forties pin-up girl. All she’s missing is the stockings.

She’s barefoot on the office floor, toes scrunched in the carpet, and he can see even from feet away that the nails are painted the same dark red as her fingers. It sends a ridiculous jolt of affection through him, and he can’t help the slow upturn of his mouth when he looks at her, face flushed and chest heaving.

“What?” she asks, suddenly self-conscious, as though she wasn’t telling him her fantasies two minutes before. 

“Nothing,” he replies, crossing his arms over his chest and watching as her cheeks burn. “I just like looking.”

“Then look over here,” she shoots back, all faux-irritability. The sting of it is lessened by the glint in her eye, the way her gaze tracks slowly down his chest, his abs, the trail of dark hair leading past his beltline. She leans back against her desk and he crosses the floor in three quick strides, catching her about the waist and tugging her into him, pushing the hem of her blouse up till it sits underneath her bra. 

He wants to sweep the desk clear and lay her out on her back before kissing his way down her body, but there’s so much in the  _ way _ . Notepads, pencils, and a mug with a rim of red lipstick litter her work station and Ben groans in frustration before bracing his hands underneath her thighs and picking her up, pivoting to lower her down on the wood of his desk and knocking everything off, not even hearing the clatter of his decorative Newton’s Cradle as it crashes to the floor. 

Rey gasps out a laugh, clinging onto him like a monkey, and when he moves to let her go she slides down the length of his body slowly, twisting her hips. The heat of her centre presses against him, her skirt rucked up to her thighs, and Ben palms the smooth skin of her leg and traces the lace of her underwear with the tips of his fingers, the rough fabric catching on his calluses. 

Like this, their height difference is much less pronounced. He only has to stoop to reach her, their breath mingling as he presses his forehead against hers. She’s so easy to kiss, so responsive, her gasps of pleasure going straight to his cock. He’s drunk off it, his head swimming every time he breaks away to take a breath. 

“Can I go down on you?” he asks desperately, hands fumbling at the buttons of her blouse. He has to taste her, has to know how it feels to make her fall apart on his tongue. 

Her shirt falls open under his trembling fingers, the black lace of her bra stark against the paler skin of her chest, and he bites his lip, hard. Rey nods feverishly, eyes hazy, and whines into the curve of his neck when he cups her breast in one hand, her breath hot on his skin. 

The lace scratches at his palm as he fumbles, tugging the fabric down until the swell of her flesh escapes, nipples drawn to tight points in the cool air, and he groans low in the back of his throat and runs his thumb over her, pale and flushed pink. She fits so well in his hands, like she was made for him, and she makes a noise like she’s been shocked when he bends and presses his mouth to her. 

Rey’s hands go straight for his hair, spearing through the waves of it and holding him close, keeping him steady as he trails kisses across her chest, one hand enveloping one breast and his thumb rolling over her nipple as he worries the other to a peak with his mouth, her skin shining spit-slick as she whimpers underneath him. 

He wants to suck bruises into her skin, leave behind evidence that he was here, that he did this, so that she’ll remember him every time she looks in the mirror and touches herself. 

“Ben,” she gasps out. He tears himself away from her chest to meet her gaze, swallowing hard when their eyes meet. She looks debauched, blouse falling halfway down her shoulder and her tits escaping her bra, purple marks already blooming on her skin. Her mouth is swollen where she’s bitten, where he’s kissed her. He can’t stop himself from leaning in and capturing her lips again, drawing her close and tugging at her bottom lip with his teeth.

“Please, I need more,” Rey says, breaking away from him. Her chest is heaving and his cock twitches insistently in his trousers at the sight. It’s so easy to drop to his knees on the carpet in front of her and shoulder her legs apart. 

The apex of her thighs is like a furnace, the lace of her underwear sodden; it takes seconds for him to push the hemline of her skirt fully up her thighs so that she’s bare from the waist down. When he runs his thumb over the heat of her she jolts wildly, clutching his hair at the roots and staring down at him with heavy-lidded eyes. 

Even through the fabric he can feel how she’s soaking, her stomach jumping as he presses her clit slowly over the material, working in circles. Her breath hitches with each stroke and he watches her reactions as he touches her, the way she gasps as her eyes roll back, each noise that escapes her sending a fresh wave of arousal crashing over him. 

“Off,” he murmurs, running a finger under the lace at her inner thigh, and Rey nods, scrambling to prop herself up on her elbows. When he draws her underwear down her legs she shivers violently, hot skin exposed to the cool air, and as he lets them fall she fidgets, her legs bumping his upper arms. 

She’s  _ dripping. _

Ben touches her clit with the pad of his thumb, featherlight, and her entire body contracts. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, the honeyed scent of her filling his senses, his mouth at the top of her thighs. “Is this all for me?”

Rey rolls her hips insistently, a whine building in the back of her throat. When she looks down the length of her body at him he hides a smile in the curve of her hip, nipping at the soft skin with his teeth and banding his forearm over the flat of her stomach to hold her in place, and ghosts over her cunt with his nose. 

The noise she makes imprints on his brain. He adjusts himself between her legs, dropping chaste kisses on the inside of her thighs, humming low when she bucks her hips underneath him.

“Ben, please,” she moans, her hand a vice grip in his hair. “Stop teasing.”

He does as he’s bid, lowering his head to lick a hot stripe up the centre of her, his eyes closing as heady desire fills his veins. She twists her fingers into the curls at the back of his neck, hard, and her wetness floods his mouth as he runs his tongue over her clit, fingers digging into the curve of her side. Rey squeaks, rocking forward, and as he rolls his thumb over the bundle of nerves her inner thighs twitch violently. 

She sobs when he lifts his head to look at her, lifting her hips off the desk and pleading with her eyes. She’s got one arm over her mouth, bite marks etched into the skin of her wrist where she’s clamped down to keep quiet, and her skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, her hair sticking to her forehead. 

His cock throbs against the zipper of his slacks as he reaches down to grind against the heel of his hand, tipping forward to rest his head against the flat of her stomach, the heat of her cunt surrounding him. He laps at her lazily, the way her breath hitches each time he makes contact sending a bolt of lust through him, and when she cries out in frustration he laves the flat of his tongue over her clit and watches as she clenches.

“God, Rey,” he murmurs. “You’re so good. I want you to come.”

“Then  _ make _ me,” she grits out, collapsing onto her elbows.

She cries out in relief when he touches her, thighs clamping around his head. The slick push of his middle finger inside of her has her bucking into him, her voice cracking with the force of her moan. She’s so tight, wet heat gripping him, and when he crooks his finger she spasms violently, the back of her head nearly hitting the desk.

Ben presses his arm down on her stomach, forcing her to stay still, and licks at her softly, feeling how she clenches around him; how her body draws tight as she climbs higher and higher. 

“Fuck,” Rey gasps, releasing her wrist from her mouth and palming her breast, rolling her nipple between her thumb and forefinger. “Please, Ben. Don’t stop.”

He meets her eyes as he slides a second finger inside of her, her hips rolling wildly into the sensation. She moans and it sounds like a sob, her hand so tight in his hair that he couldn’t move away even if he wanted to. He’s dizzy with it, the feeling of her so consumed by his touch, and when he seals his mouth around her clit and  _ sucks _ her back bows off the desk as she shouts, bucking up into him.

“Please,” she begs. “Please, I’m so close, I want it,  _ Ben _ —”

She breaks off with a strangled cry and comes, clutching his hair as she rides it out, his mouth on her cunt and his fingers inside her. When he feels her contract around him, licking her through it, his cock pulses as his vision whites out and he has to fight the urge to follow her blindly over the edge. 

Her orgasm overwhelms her and her cry tapers off into broken hiccups as she seizes around his fingers while he strokes her through the aftershocks, only stopping when she pushes him away with shaking hands. 

“You’re so good,” he mouths into the soft skin of her inner thigh, fumbling at the fastenings of his trousers and fisting a hand round his cock. “So good for me, so perfect, Rey. I need to be inside you.”

His fingers are wet from her, making him groan as he works himself over, and pleasure coils heavy at the base of his spine as Rey nudges at his shoulders. 

“Come  _ here _ ,” she orders, kicking his back lightly with her heels. When he stands up in front of her, her eyes fall instantly, tracking the movement of his hand under the fabric of his clothing. 

Colour blooms in her cheeks as she watches him, tilted back on her elbows. She’s still breathing heavily, skirt pushed up around her waist, and she hooks her foot around his waist and tugs him into her, gasping as he grabs onto the bare skin of her thigh.

“Please,” Rey says, pushing herself up to meet him and wrapping her arms around his neck. “I need you.”

He can’t help himself, leaning down to kiss her, swallowing her moan as she tastes herself on his mouth. She trails down his stomach, replacing his hand with hers and stroking the length of him, smiling into their kiss at his choked-off grunt, but she’s barely touched him before Ben pushes her away.

“I want to be inside you when I come,” he says, voice low. Part of him can’t believe his own daring, but he’s been hard for what feels like hours and any remaining blood flow is  _ not _ being directed towards his head. 

Rey’s blush spreads from her cheeks right down her chest, mottled pink staining her skin. She wraps her legs around his waist firmer, crossing her ankles at the small of his back, her voice soft at the shell of his ear.

“I have an IUD,” she whispers. “And I’m clean. You?”

He nods emphatically, hands shaking with want. “Definitely clean.”

Mentioning how long it’s been won’t do him any favours. 

“Then what’s stopping you?” she asks, quirking her eyebrow. Her hand folds around his cock and she strokes him gently, twisting on the upstroke as his eyes roll back in his head. “I want it.”

He braces his palms under her thighs and tugs her closer, ass on the edge of his desk. His fingertips dig into the soft skin and he’s sure he’ll leave bruises, purple to match the ones on her tits. It thrills the Neanderthal in him. 

When he grips his cock at the base and guides himself into her, Rey’s mouth drops open and her neck arches like a bow string, curving into his body. He presses his forehead against hers and pants into the air between them, breathes in the smell of her as he tries not to lose it. She’s soaking, her inner thighs glossy; she’s so tight around him that he means to push in slowly, but she digs in her heels and he bottoms out with a grunt, tension building in his spine. 

“Fuck,” she whimpers, clenching around him. “You’re so big.”

He’s going to come. He can feel the pressure building as he pulls out, the drag of his cock inside her as she rolls her hips towards him. He grits his teeth as he thrusts and Rey hiccups out a moan, nails raking down his back.

“You take it so well, sweetheart,” he pants into the side of her neck, desperate to get her there. He lowers a hand between their bodies and circles her clit with the pad of his thumb, and Rey seizes around him, making him groan. “It’s like you were made for this. Made for me.”

The punch of his hips jolts her body further up the desk and she clings on to him, gasping into his mouth every time he leaves her and catching her breath when he pushes back in. He can feel her, the way her cunt clenches every time he presses just right on the bundle of nerves between her legs, and he starts babbling helplessly, spilling every filthy thought that’s ever crossed his mind in a last-ditch bid to get her to shatter before he does. 

“Fuck, Rey. You’re so beautiful, so perfect. Want to fuck you so hard you see stars. Want to make you feel good all the time.”

She nods frantically, eyes fluttering closed as he plants kisses along the line of her jaw, mouth pressing into the hollow of her throat.

“Please,” she gasps out. “Please, Ben.”

The sound of his name punched out of her sends him reeling, heat coiling like a knot as pleasure threatens to erupt from the base of his spine

“Again,” he begs her, half-mad with it. “Please Rey, I want to feel it, want you to come on my cock.”

His fingers slip over her clit and she seizes around him, sobbing into his mouth as she climaxes, crying out as he presses kisses to her face and murmurs into her hair, telling her that she’s good, that she’s perfect. She rocks into him, panting out her release, and as the walls of her cunt pulse around him his cock throbs painfully, his hands shaking on her waist. 

Rey’s orgasm undoes him and he presses into her as he comes with a groan, sinking his teeth into the meat of her shoulder as his cock jerks inside her and he trembles with the force of it. Pleasure reverberates out from the base of his spine, fire flooding his blood as he thrusts reflexively, pushing through the aftershocks and shuddering to a halt as he soothes the marks he left with his teeth, tasting the salt of her skin. 

her mouth curves into a smile against his cheek, her red lipstick smeared and her hair askew, and Ben draws back from the curve of her neck, breathing hard. His heartbeat thunders in his ears, but when he looks at her all he can hear is the grin in her voice as she pushes his hair back from his forehead.

“I should probably take that post down, huh? I don’t want anyone getting false hope.”

It’s so unexpected that he can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes him, rocking into her. Their bodies are still joined and Rey gasps at the sensation, hands clutching at his shoulders as her pupils dilate.

“I don’t know,” he says, punctuating his statement with a roll of his hips, feeling the heat rise as Rey’s eyes darken. “It worked out pretty well for us.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! come and shout at me on twitter


End file.
